


Almost Blue

by neomints



Category: Blue Period (Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Manga Spoilers, they eat lunch and be gay thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomints/pseuds/neomints
Summary: Yotasuke and Yatora eat lunch together, the latter daydreams far far too close for comfort.
Relationships: Takahashi Yotasuke/Yaguchi Yatora
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Almost Blue

It's not certain where the habit started, only that Yatora thanks every star in the sky for the fact that Yotasuke is sitting right there next to him, his hand fisted around his curry-filled spoon in a way that can only be described as elegant. Not elegant in the way _Swan Lake_ is, but in the way a _Matisse_ painting is. Clumsy at first glance but intimately deliberate, intimately purposeful, intimately beau—

"Why do you keep staring at me like that? It's creepy," Yotasuke speaks up, causing Yatora to jump. His hand flies up to his mouth so he doesn't accidentally cough up pieces of a panini. Yotasuke only sighs at the reaction, inching away from Yatora and grumbling something heinous about Yatora's shitty habits and lack of personal space. 

It isn't that weird for Yotasuke to complain, he makes a point of doing so at least three times an hour, but even if you tell Yatora not to take it personally he still will. Despite evidence otherwise (their occasional outings, the worried glances near deadlines, the way they eat lunch together every day) Yatora can't help but be concerned with how others might negatively perceive him. 

Especially Yotasuke. Always Yotasuke.

So he mumbles an apology, and continues to stare anyway. Yotasuke glares back, but miraculously lets him do so, and over time his shoulders relax. 

Silly, isn't it?

Yatora wants to be in his good graces as much as he wants to rip himself apart in awe of his genius. His admiration and his wrath consume him in equal measure, two sides of a precariously balanced coin, the curiosity of a child testing their limits. A balance held taught by both ends of the earth.

They say one thing yet act out another, a shock of green beneath the warmth of pink and reddish skin. If Yatora were to paint Yotasuke, would he do it like that? The way Mori-senpai once did?

No. Probably not.

Because Yotasuke isn't reds and pinks, though his finger tips do edge on coral and his ears do redden in the cold (never redder than that fateful new years). To Yatora, Yotasuke is Lapis Lazuli. Brilliant, deep, blinding. Made of a natural sort of magic sought after so deeply by civilization from the very roots. 

He's one of a kind, a genius, gorgeous in every sense. Hair in perfect pitch black China ink and eyes in stunning cobalt. In his edges are charcoal, in his grooves are deeply carved impasto paints. 

Yotasuke stares at him and loses track of time, loses track even of himself. He stares and dreams of running his hands over the canvas, of bypassing security and touching a Matisse. Just him under the gallery spotlight, admiring art at the closest level. So close he can see every stroke and misstep, every mole and imperfection.

"Yaguchi-san!" 

"Wh-? Oh, shit! shit, shit—" Close, _too_ close. At some point Yatora had started to instinctively lean towards Yotasuke. In finding himself lost in thought he'd gotten too close, hand raised in the air as though to caress Yotasuke's hair, nose only inches from the moles under Yotasuke's bright big eyes. 

He looked baffled, scared even. Yotasuke's heart flinches and regains its composure in less than a second, folding in on himself and fisting a hand in his hair.

 _What the fuck was that?! Stupid, stupid, stupid–!_

"Sorry, I-" Yatora takes a deep breath, shrinking further into himself with shame, "I was just lost in thought and I didn't realize I- fuck, sorry. Sorry."

"Don't you know anything about personal space? What's wrong with you?" Yotasuke's words pierce into Yatora's core, and he wished the world would end right then and there if only to give him a reason for the tears spilling onto his cheeks.

(It may as well be ending, he'd blew it and lost his chance, lost the world as he knew it.)

"Sorry." He says again, he feels it so deeply that it spills out of him like dye. "Sorry, fuck–" it feels a weight, like turpentine in his lungs. All he wants is to let Yotasuke know. "I'm so sorry." That he doesn't want to lose any part of this deep blue world. "I'll make it up to you I'll–"

"Stop apologizing already, it pisses me off," Yotasuke says. He doesn't say anything more, nor does he move an inch from the park bench the two are sat at.

Yatora can't see him with his eyes sightlessly staring at the flecks of gray on the floor, but it still takes him by surprise.

"H-huh?" He replies, as dumbly as he feels.

Yotasuke sighs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "it's pathetic when you apologize like that, so don't do it anymore."

Yatora blinks. He sits up and looks towards Yotasuke incredulously. Yotasuke's still there. He sits squarely, legs tight together so they touch one another, and hand on his own lap clenched around the fabric of his flannel. It's tense but it's normal. Yatora expected him to leave.

"Wait, you," Yatora says, dumber still. His brain is swimming through honey and linseed oil, and hope swirls thick in his chest. "What?"

"Seriously?" Yotasuke scoffs back. He always has so much to say back, complaints and carefully crafted arguments, as though he's been prepared to let out his pent up rage all his life and decided that Yatora was the one and only correct target for it.

This time, he says nothing more.

Yatora stares at him again, firmly placed in reality this time. He notes the way Yotasuke's hands shake so slightly, but his feet are still planted in the ground. He hasn't stopped facing away, the way the figures in his paintings always do, but Yatora notices something, and when he does the world shifts.

A study of art is merely the study of light, and color is but a magic born from that light. Its relativity breeds intrigue, and makes even grays seem orange when placed against the right friends. When warms and cools come together, they push one another further, bringing each other to new limits.

Yotasuke's skin is cool Lapis and his hair is cobalt, but the warm red at the tips of his ears, bright even in the warm spring weather, makes the whole world a brand new shade of blue.

Soon the two of them move to lectures, and Yatora spends just too long freaking out in the bathroom.

(And Yotasuke doesn't ask, thankful as he is for the distance from the reds and oranges which make up Yatora.)


End file.
